


Eidolon

by katherineerosee



Series: Avoiding The Afterlife [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherineerosee/pseuds/katherineerosee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was shifting again, rustling the carpet under fictitious boots and scraping the walls with imaginary hands. It was restless, much like he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eidolon

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is literally Revenant but from mainly Cloud's perspective, because, well, why not? 
> 
> This story functions in the same way Revenant does, in the sense that there are swift POV changes, except these are exactly the opposite to what they are in Revenant. In other words, when it changes to Zack's POV in Revenant, it will change to Cloud's POV in this story. It's kinda hard to explain, but yeah. 
> 
> I would recommend reading Revenant before reading this one, but I suppose it's not entirely necessary, it just might clear some things up. 
> 
> Yeah, uh enjoy.

He could feel him again, that aching, scratching fuzziness that rolled and shook at his peripheral senses like a persistent swarm of wasps. It was this odd combination of coiling heat and shocking cold, the pool of dawn light settling on his bare skin and golden halo of hair and dazzling azure eyes, and yet the shadow of dusk light, steadily cooling and whipping, shaking around his form like artic winds. It wouldn’t let him rest.

In times when the sensations would break his concentration and _real_ things like saving the world and his _family_ and friends and mutated, JENOVA infested terrorists would blur before his eyes – he would rest easy. The small venture to the abandoned church in the broken remains of a metropolis would fly by in a whir of mangled metal and fragmented lives, and suddenly he’d be lying among the prospering flora in the valley of sunshine. The blur at the rims of his vision would remain, but would calm considerably; the presence also at ease in the haven. He would stare at the sky, the liquid blue that was akin to the very essence of the sky in a vast pool of water; ripples and waves bursting forth across the canvas of pink, blue and orange hues.

In these times, he would recall his saviour. He’d hear the whispered words, _he seems so at ease, a strange inner peace_ , and understand that those were his thoughts as he sat in the bloody rain, his gaze fixed on hollow bullet holes and streams of crimson. He would recall the wispy warmth during those catatonic days as they travelled the world; the feel of heavy and comforting arms across his back and around his torso, the green haze that he associated with weakness and death, loss.

He knew exactly what this presence was, _who_ it was, and some sick, twisted, selfish part of him wished it would never leave. He didn’t know how long it had been there, or even how it got there, but he _knew_.

He was lying on his side, cerulean gaze fixed on the off eggshell white walls, a downy quilt covering his body from the shoulders down. He’d awoken hours ago, when the stars still glimmered and the cool night breeze settled like caressing hands on his face; he’d not slept a full night since his childhood. He refused to turn, in all the hours he’d laid staring aimlessly at the cracked wallpaper of the wall, he refused to turn. His arm had fallen numb beneath him, his legs stiff and stiflingly hot, his hair matted against the firm pillow below his head and fingers cramped as they splayed underneath his chest. But he _refused_ to turn, to _move_.

He knew the presence was there again, flitting and wavering near his bedroom door. It wouldn’t budge, and hadn’t since sometime after he had fallen into unconsciousness. He couldn’t face him, not now – not _ever_ , really.

In all honesty, he didn’t understand why exactly it was so hard – to even acknowledge the presence inwardly was like a sharp nail squirming and sinking through his skull and into the soft tissues of his brain, but to do it outwardly? To shift his body until his back hit the mattress and his eyes wondered over to the door to stare straight at his most haunting demon and his most beautiful angel? He thought that if he were to do that, even the Masamune and its sleek length would be welcome. This man – presence – was his saviour, his whole world, at one point even _he_ himself, and yet taking in his wild onyx hair and violet – blue eyes would probably be the death of him.

Acknowledging it meant understanding that it was nothing more than an echo, a wisp of a hero that had long ago graced the planet with his existence but had fallen with numerous bullet holes and blood. He couldn’t do that. He _couldn’t._

It was shifting again, rustling the carpet under fictitious boots and scraping the walls with imaginary hands. It was restless, much like he was. He couldn’t stand it anymore, as if his emotional and mental problems weren’t enough, now he had to deal with this? Wandering the remains of the planet for the rest of his life knowing that just over his shoulder, there _he_ was? The man that he–

The wall beyond him was blurring, the edges of his vision wispy and faded in quality – and he wasn’t completely sure if it was because of the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, or because the _stigma_ was finally getting to him. His enhanced body couldn’t keep him safe forever, he knew that, which was why he kept the marring discolouration of his arm that scarred the alabaster skin inky and smudged from everyone – even his unexpected visitor.

He couldn’t lie like this forever, even if he wanted to. Even if turning and facing it meant the death of him, it was probably better – though he was still internally debating that – than this. Lying here, shifting gently under the covers and hoping, _praying_ , it would just _leave._

With a sigh he finally curled out of the ball he’d made of his body, stretching his legs out from under him and pulling back the covers of his bed. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet, and caused a shiver to ripple up his legs as he pushed the dark covers back further into the bed. The room spun around him for a moment – _I suppose it was the stigma blurring my vision, though probably not entirely_ – and thus he placed a hand on the bedframe as he shuddered on his feet.

Stumbling over to the window he grasped the lift cord for the blinds in one hand and ripped them up, causing the hazy, buttery sunlight of dawn to melt through the frame. Staring at the sun as it peeked over the horizon gave him a headache, but with the pain came clarity – Tifa had said that that was an unhealthy reaction to have to pain, but it was sometimes the only thing that cleared his mind – and with that clarity came an overwhelming pool of emotion. It spilled like blood splattering on glass, and the name "Zackery…" streamed from his lips before he could stop it.

He hadn’t referred to it – _him_ – like that before, and it was both relieving and terrifying. Perhaps that was why his voice was hued in tones of blue and black, as opposed to the usual monotone. How many days had he gone without speaking? _He_ had been lingering for some time now, as usually the fluttering at the edges of his senses would stay for a day – maybe two – and then vanish, but this time it must have been a week. He didn’t like speaking in _his_ presence. It made memories rise to the surface, scattered, shattered memories that were blurry and hazy and pounded behind his eyelids in staccato rhythms if he ignored them. Those memories of times lost; lazy early mornings before missions with too hot, bitter coffee, sleepy laughs and chilly feet, back to back in battle with a rifle and a large blade, mischievous glances and cheeky grins, they hurt the most to reminiscence, and they haunted him, _hunted_ him.

He felt more than saw the flare of _something_ just beyond his vision, like an object caught in the quick glare of a car headlight as it passed, and within seconds he heard a swishing sound approaching him across the carpet. A soft thud followed the sound, something dropping to the ground just behind him, next to his feet.

A soft touch, barely tangible hands grasping his hips, then hovering and settling on his waist, a gentle bump, a thud against his lower back. All his breath left him in a hitch, whistling through his teeth. It was silent for a moment, before a faint rasping sound caught the air, like someone speaking through a dry throat, a parched tongue. It sounded almost like a scream, a cry.

He shifted around, facing the pressure on his lower body and his eyes fell flat to the floor. It was a strange sight; like watching a silhouette, a shadow in three dimensions. He was there, but he also _wasn’t._ Despite the hazy, grainy quality of the image, shocking violet–blue eyes still shone in the dim light of the approaching sun, and that was enough for Cloud to recognise him. "I know you’re there," something cleared in his throat, like a piece of glass disentangling itself, "I know you."

He reached down and grabbed what he could identify as hands, pulling them into a gentle grip as he lowered himself to the floor. "You can see me." His voice was exactly the same as he remembered it to be, _oh gaia, it was exactly the same._

He frowned slightly at the assumption, "no," his eyes lowered to the actual floor this time, "I can’t," now that he’d acknowledged the presence it felt almost painful to look away from it, and thus his eyes flickered back up "but I can _feel_ you," he reached out, hand wavering in the air for a moment, before it landed on the other’s cheek, his fingers stroking across the fluctuating surface, "I can _feel_ you, Zack." Saying his name a second time didn’t hurt as much as the first.

Droplets began to appear on the surface of the carpet, tiny dark patches on the otherwise pristine surface, "don’t cry," he breathed, "please Zack, I need you to smile," tears welled in his own eyes, ones he couldn’t contain any longer, "if you can’t smile, how could I?" Zack was the happiest person he knew, if even _he_ couldn’t smile, what possible chance did _Cloud_ have?

"I can feel you too, Cloud." The other whispered, his voice nearly drowned in the early morning traffic. They both lunged, arms wrapping tightly around the other’s torso, Zack’s arms felt like water wading around him, and his own arms felt warmer around Zack’s torso.

Zack watched as the remaining colour drained from Cloud’s face, the bright illumination of the sun on the both of them as they embraced. "Zack," he said hesitantly, "why…exactly are you here? Wouldn’t it be better up…there?" He sounded pained, wounded even, a hitch in his tone that had been noticeable before, but not this pronounced.

He felt Cloud’s shaking hand release him to come up and cover his eyes, "I’ve never been up there, well not that I remember at least," his voice was calmer than he expected, "as far as I know…I’ve always been with you."

Cloud let out a strangled little whimper at the words and hurled himself at Zack, his arms squeezing around his frame like a lifeline. Zack heard him inhale deeply into his neck, and felt the patter of teardrops across his neck and shoulder as the blond shuddered in his arms. The broken sobs that echoed from him caused his own to rile up, and as they began to shake him as well, he reached up and grasped Cloud tightly to his chest.

The morning traffic – human and otherwise – filled the room for a moment, the sobbing to a minimum, and their breaths puffing against each other’s skin. Cloud heard Zack inhale sharply, as if he was struck with an idea, and he heard him mumble "Cloud," against his shoulder. "How did you know I was crying?"

_Wha – oh._

"I–" _How did I not notice before? It was – literally – right before my eyes._ "Holy shit."

Cloud pulled back in his arms, his cerulean blue eyes flashing over him swiftly, observing every inch. Seeming to have found what he was looking for, he buried himself back into Zack’s neck, inhaling deeply once more. "Cloud," he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face, so he smothered it in blond spikes, "do you think that..?"

There was no point in finishing his sentence, as Cloud swiftly answered with "Aerith."

_Thank you._

He felt Zack place his hand against his own chest, grin hidden in his hair widening slightly.

Zack pulled back – a mirror image of what Cloud had just done – and placed a hand on each of Cloud’s cheeks, his eyes cheeky and bright. Leaning down until their foreheads bumped together, Zack stared deeply into Cloud’s eyes, "You, you how I – how I…felt – about –" He couldn’t force the words out, but he felt as if they were already there.

Cloud stared back into his eyes, cerulean irises still sparkling with tears – as he supposed his own probably were – a small smile curling at his lips and his brows raised to his hairline. "Hush," Cloud’s voice was tender, affectionate, "I know," the blond twisted up to meet Zack halfway, their lips brushing together softly, he spoke against his lips "and we have all the time in the world to explore that."


End file.
